I Became A Cat.....


I become a cat,

and imagine that!

Everyone reaches to

pet me!

But, I creep away fast,

and look at that!

everyone reaches to

fetch me!

I spring out

my claws,

which are as good

as my jaws,

and I scramble to

to give those

that have me,

a sideways claw

with the ends of

my paw, so that

no one endeavors

to grab me!

I slink away now,

with a sour

meow, and a

wave of my furry

striped tail,

hoping that these

humans will learn to

stop, and to

let things just


For when and if

I want a pet,

they will know, and

they won't forget...

but, in the meantime,

as I walk,

I just smile, and

think my


Author's Notes: By lilwinky

Written Thursday, May 11th, 2006

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Frozen Snowclouds

Sprinkling crystalline prisms across frigid land.

Frosty glitter

Piercing rawness one can barely understand.

Arctic diamonds

Caught in eyelashes and blanketing hair.

Icy beauty

That for once everyone can share.

Brisk chill

A white that lets off an incredible glow.

Gelid air

All the accompanyments of beautiful snow.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My friend told me to write about the differences between Rain and Snow. Instead I wrote a poem about the beauty of each. Enjoy! 2006

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Gray skies and and ill-favored clouds

Liquid sunshine falling in shrouds

A soft intonation as the misty vapors cry

A quencher from the sky

Raincloud brimming with mellifluent dew

A languid downpour of crystal clear blue

The sweet nectar of a delightful cloud burst

An indundation that slakes any thirst

The sun shower one can rarely explain

Is labeled as the simple word: Rain.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of my friends told me to write about the difference between snow and rain. Instead I'm writing two seperate poems of the greatness of both. Enjoy! 2006

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Beneath The Sand

Crimson fingers touch crimson hearts,

These petals that float beneath the sand,

Float above water…

Like ice crystals, before melting point,


Confusion takes place

You take flight… in the night.

Beneath the water,

Beneath the sand

These crimson fingertips grasp crimson petals

With transparent tips,


And ivory hands.

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Last night I had unprotected dreams of broke

here I am unprotected from an STD

S tandard T imeless D istortions

so today I decided to cum with a sense of wonder

and speaking within a room of the quiet and the rowdy

in the presence of cigarette smoke

are the stale empty things you say between the lines

between the pauses of breath

st-st-st-stuttering your points across

aren't quite as effective; once you deliver

but twice as honest; and three times it penetrates

like hypnosis

sinks deep like pebbles in the waters...of your eyes

and I'm here wondering if I made an impression

or muddied the waters

this clear image enables me toi push the button

of a higher I "elevate"

just the play things of my imagination

is that what all wordsmiths want?

Are we trying to comb out the kinks of our lives

or the words we say on the minds of these around us?

filling the air like Polo Sport incense hoping someone

will pass through it and inhale

like smoke clinging to your clothes after the night is over

memories hang in the closet like my old Easter suit

I wear my heart on my sleeve and call it a disguise

I wear my true face abnd call it a masquerade

throw my soul on a page and scream it from a stage

and call it a game.....

my words cut with more accuracy than laser surgery

slice more neatly without leaving a wound

can make a reputation with one carelessly dropped syllable

but it takes forever to break or shake that reputation

Each poem is like the bars that represents a cage

defines me...confines me

at least I know I'm caged

dealing with our limitations in limitless debates

that arrange themselves like

a chess game with radioactive pieces

and the gut feeling when you hear these words

feel this crazy fool who stands in front of you

hurling pieces of his soul in packages of words

Author's Notes/Comments: 

a little mind feast to consume.

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O, here I am envious me

With what she calls a duty

I wish to be as pretty as she

To have that sense of beauty

I want her curves

I want her figure

Just stop my nerves

In which I am a disfigure

I want they’re looks

I want their style

I want their books

That teach them beguile

O, here I am envious me

How I wish to be as pretty as she

A beautiful Goth woman physique

The eyes that seduce even the blind

The type of arousing scent in mystique

Which can open even a one tracked mind

Instead of modern day Goths that deal with nothing

I want that aura that is both beauty and brute

To have as mine that voice which they sing

To hold both innocence that covers astute

Embodied with power of an independent soul

Having the body that any person would die for

Instead of my ugly exterior troll

Those humans are what I truly adore

What would I pay for a life such as this

What would I sacrifice to have a power as such

How would it feel to have everyone within my abyss

To experience great pain with just a small touch

Like the words I’ve heard from surrounding voices

Just to let them feel what they put me through

To show how it feels when they say their hurtful choices

To watch their lives rot and come into my accrue

Give them the misery which they cower and fear

Show them how easy there life could be mine

Watch them die more with each agonizing year

Show them the atrociousness of my divine malign

Why can’t I be that beautiful she

Instead of being this envious me

Inspired by: A few people in which I’ve watched

Dedicated to: No one

Created on: November 23, 2005

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person and people tell in truism

like light amplified through some distant lens

toil and attempt,

fringe benefits aiding the doggy paddle

towards any kind of ledge to pull oneself dripping up onto

and show off those abs

I will smile, forever, even by cringing grimace

with coffee stains at the corners

I will wave and jerk a bent thumb into space before me,

even though I may be judged harshly. . . .

In a false way?

Maybe. . .

Where does definition emanate?

Outward in.. ..inside out. . . . .

Well, that is perception, baby!

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Neon & Chrome

Other Poems

Walking in the moonlit night.

Quiet street.

Only the wind fills your ears.

The cool breeze,

Peaceful night.

On the quiet moonlit street.

Far away in the distance,

Rising out of the trees.

Bright lights,

The moon is swatted fromt the skies.

Music and sound,

Emotion all around.



On the once quiet night.

Glitzy signs,

The hum of the neon lights.

The city of chrome,

The city of dreams.

Hell for some,

Heaven for most.

Home for the rest.

The silver towers,

Scraping the heavens.

Ancherod in hell.

Transports from the surface to the skies.

In the city of neon and chrome. be continued

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Sacred Stroll


We walked up the hill on a lovely day

The lovely day – no blue, no sun

Painted over with a purple gray,

The clouds completely covered the window

Through which some believe we are spied upon.

Yes, to us it was the perfect day.

The dry grass on the incline shushed us,

Though no words passed between us as our legs worked hard,

Pulling our weight to the goal, the peak.

Not every thirsty blade was annoyed,

Some whispered beautiful nonsense,

Providing us with entertainment.

We listened to them, tried to be the active audience.

Difficult, however, with the distractions all around.

The boiling sky, for one, would not go unheard.

The old men’s faces we thought we could see

In the mounds of vapor, constantly changing,

Always curious of us ground-dwellers.

The jealous geriatrics are never content with their

Elevated prison.

They try to break out, escape.

But when they do this, they fall apart;

Here is the safeguard, the barbed wire fence,

It tears them up and they fall in their destroyed state

To the predatory soil, trapped again.

We eye the churning ceiling overhead, expecting the jailbreak

But it looks like they’ll be content looking out the window.

We can feel the pull coming from the dirt,

Which can be seen through the patchy grass.

The wasted burned-out red tones, angry, demanding

Its cloudy victims, but unfortunately it cannot prowl,

Cannot hunt, silent passive predator.

Rocks and soil chunks, grinding crumbling beneath our steps.

The top of the hill, below the waving dry grass,

The expanse seems like a swirling pool of brown sludge.

But we are safe atop the mud-turtle’s back.

He does not complain; we are insignificant.

Waiting for us at the peak of the turtle’s massive shell,

A dead crow, stiff, dull black,

His eyes dried out to small empty holes.

The earth surrounding the small body,

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